


H is for Healing and Hands

by BrandybuckPuck



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Little bit of angst, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:23:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandybuckPuck/pseuds/BrandybuckPuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Bagginshield Alphabet</p><p>The only part of Thorin that Bilbo felt was safe to touch while the dwarf lay in the healing tent, sallow and too still, were his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	H is for Healing and Hands

The only part of Thorin that Bilbo felt was safe to touch while the dwarf lay in the healing tent, sallow and too still, were his hands. 

A week ago Bilbo had covered Thorin’s worst wound with his own hands, as Dwalin carried him down the ice, keeping pressure against the flow of blood as best he could. The feeling of Thorin, bleeding out against him, knowing his strength was slipping away with every second, was a memory that no amount of soap or scrubbing could remove. He felt it every time he looked down at his hands.

Oin had been unable to coax Bilbo out of the healing tent once the healers had finished the worst of the operations. The old dwarf had tried to convince Bilbo that there was nothing he could do now, and that Bilbo needed to have his own wounds attended to. But Bilbo had just shook his head, and scooted closer to Thorin’s bedside. He gave Oin a pleading look, broken and desperate, willing him to allow him to stay. Staying was all Bilbo could do. Oin nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder before leaving Bilbo and Thorin alone in the tent. 

At first, Bilbo stayed silent. He watched over Thorin’s breathing and he watched his face for any sign of pain or change in consciousness. But after a while the silence became overwhelming, the memories of the battle and Thorin, smiling up at Bilbo as he lay dying, replayed in his head. As if the thought of Bilbo sitting in an armchair and reading a book was enough to give Thorin peace in the grips of death.

And what if he had died? 

The thought would not stay out of Bilbo’s head for long, worming its way in and picking apart Bilbo’s sanity. If Thorin had died Bilbo’s world would have darkened with him. He didn’t want to, he couldn’t imagine, the rawness and the hollowness that Thorin’s absence would had left.  
Bilbo took a breath, willing his heart to slow and for his breath to find a rhythm to calm himself down. In the bed, Thorin lay unnervingly still, his breath coming to staggered and shallow for Bilbo’s comfort, but he was alive. He was _alive_. 

Bilbo reached out and laid his hand on Thorin’s. It was too warm and Bilbo didn’t dare grasp it as he ached to do, fearing that anything more than simply feeling Thorin’s hand under his may upset the healing process and send Thorin over the precipice. 

He did, though, trace his finger gently over the knuckles and contours of his fingers, barely making contact with Thorin’s skin. He followed the lines of Thorin’s hand until sleep claimed him at last and his head fell softly on the side of the bed. 

His days continued like this through the week. Healers fluttered in and out of the tent every so often, and Oin returned frequently. Sometimes it was to check to make sure Thorin wasn’t bleeding through his bandages or to listen to his chest, but other times Oin simply stood over Thorin, and watched with Bilbo. The rest of the company visited in pairs, silently keeping vigil alongside Bilbo. None of them ever left without pressing a hand to Bilbo’s shoulder. Fili and Kili were placed in the same tent the next day, once the healers had stabilized them and Bilbo shifted his chair to the other side of Thorin’s bed, allowing him to watch all of them throughout the days and nights.  
Bilbo had taken to speaking to Thorin, Fili, and Kili as they remained unconscious. Telling them stories, complaining about his injury, relaying the news of the day. As he did so, he held Thorin’s hand. He had become brave enough to pick Thorin’s hand up now, so that he could hold it one hand while covering it with another. His hands weren’t large enough to cover Thorin’s and the kisses that he sometimes placed on the back of Thorin’s hand, his palm, each of his fingers, did not wake the dwarf. It didn’t pull him back to Bilbo, and Bilbo didn’t know if Thorin could even feel it.

But it still felt like healing to Bilbo.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was usually hard to tell time inside the mountain. But the Royal Chamber had two windows, one facing the east and one facing the west. Which cast rather lovely light and shadows into the room as the sun rose and set. This morning, the first rays of light had given Bilbo a window of opportunity to appreciate his husband as he slept beside him. Thorin was laying on his stomach, face turned towards Bilbo and one hand outstretched to Bilbo’s side. Bilbo loved Thorin’s hands. They were big enough to completely engulf his own, and always warm. They were worked by the forge and the sword, but Thorin’s grasp was always gentle and comforting. When they moved along Bilbo’s skin, calloused and familiar, they had the power to set Bilbo ablaze, coax out moans or pleading admonitions for more. Tangled in his curls or brushing along his back they could leave Bilbo a contented pile of bliss, unable and unwilling to move away.  
Thorin stirred and his hand moved closer, moving against the sheets, obviously seeking out Bilbo. Bilbo caught it and brought it up to his lips. With the rays of the sun shining brighter now, he pulled himself closer to Thorin, nestling into the warmth of his arms. They still had a few moments, before the day and all its demands made itself known, for hands to run lazily against skin.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And when the wrinkles on their hands spoke of their long adventures together, Bilbo would still press his lips against Thorin’s palm and seek out their warm hold. As he closed his eyes for the last time, his hand still wrapped in both of Thorin’s, he smiled. He knew that someday, when Thorin joined him wherever they were headed, he would be there to welcome him, hands twined together as they faced their next adventure together.


End file.
